Uniforms
by Only Sometimes
Summary: ONE SHOT While having to face more life destroying realities, Ponyboy Curtis reflects on those in uniforms and they way they have drastically shaped his life.


Here we go again, another three am one shot. Actually, I started this one awhile ago but just finished it tonight. The computer I'm on now actually has spell check which helps a bit this late, not even gonna lie. Hopefully the grammar is somewhat acceptable, but I do not claim it will be perfect.

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Ponyboy Curtis stared blankly at the wall across the room on the old, beat up couch. An envelope with the seal unbroken was sitting on the floor, dog tags set on top. A folded up flag sat on his lap. It was so light he couldn't even feel it there physically, but he knew it was there. There was nothing he could do to get it out of his head.

He was never going to answer the door again. It didn't matter who was knocking. If someone was knocking they didn't belong in his house, everyone who needed to knew that his brother Darry never locked it. When someone knocked on the door it meant something terrible had happened. That's how it was.

When his parents had died, the police had knocked on the door before they told them about the accident. He was hone alone when they had brought the news then, too. He had sat there, on the couch, just like he had now, but without the flag. That time he was crying, but this time he was staring, reliving the message he had just received. Ponyboy had never been too fond of cops, but after that, he didn't like to look at them much. He never really got over his affinity against those in uniform.

And then his brother Sodapop and his brother's best friend both got drafted, both got uniforms. Everyone kept saying how handsome they looked in their uniforms, how grown up. Ponyboy didn't think so, he thought they looked miserable.

And they were, he knew they were. Their hair had been cut, no place for their usual grease. And the uniforms were sharp, but they weren't tuff. It was a uniform, and it was sucking the soul right out of his brother.

A few blocks down, a car door slammed so hard Ponyboy felt himself jump. He looked around the room, his eyes only half adjusted to the dimming lights. The sun was setting, it was already six o'clock, Ponyboy had been sitting there since four. When the police had brought the news about his parents, they had stayed until his brothers had come home.

Darry had gone out to dinner with Cindy, their first and last date. Soda had taken Sandy to a double feature, he hadn't made it home until well after midnight. He'd tried to come in quietly, his shoes off before even coming in so he wouldn't make the floor squeak too much. Instead of seeing his father sitting there in his favorite chair, a look of disapproval on his face, Ponyboy had been sitting on the floor in the middle of the living room, his back to the door. Darry was stretched over the couch, his hand over his eyes.

That was the first time Sodapop hadn't had some way of cheering Ponyboy up. It was also the first night of Ponyboy's nightmares. He always told them he couldn't remember the dreams, but it was lie.

Uniforms. It was always people in uniforms in the nightmare. There was something soulless about a uniform in Ponyboy's eyes. Uniforms were worn by people who came to sit on your couch and stare at you after they told you your parents were dead. Uniforms were worn by people who would lock up your friend for months at a time. Uniforms were worn by people who chase you across the state line to arrest your best friend for something that wasn't even his fault. Uniforms were worn by people who would hand you a flag, a dog tag, and say the same thing they tell everyone.

But they should have said something special. Something about what a great guy his brother had been, something about how all the other soldiers were really going to miss him, how he had made them feel better, even when everything was at it's worse.

The uniforms hadn't said that. Their words turned into a low buzz and Ponyboy only half-way heard how they told him he should be honored, his brother had been lost fighting a war that meant a great deal to the country.

It didn't mean a thing to Ponyboy, this stupid war. He had his own wars in Tulsa. He had to grow up, go to college, fight for his place in the world while still fighting to stay connected to his own gang. The whole gang had ended up living in the Curtis house, but Ponyboy still felt disconnected. Two Bit Matthews and Steve were in Soda's room, they shared it since Soda had moved into Ponyboy's. They had figured out what to do when Sodapop got back home, and now were just staying there to save up.

Two Bit's mom insisted she couldn't afford to feed him, that he had to get a job or get out, so Two Bit got out. Steve's dad had wanted him out for a long time, and Steve had had enough of it.

Everyone had told Steve how he was a hero, how everyone was so proud, except his dad. His dad didn't care about why Steve had been sent home early from the war while his best friend was still out in the jungle.

Steve's father had paid no mind to the missing thumb on his son's left hand, and Steve had never bothered to tell him. He hadn't told anybody. He would just shove his hand into his pocket and change he subject whenever anyone asked. Eventually people stopped asking.

Ponyboy had tried to imagine what could have separated Steve from his thumb, but he never could come up with an answer, and that surprised him a bit. He had a writer's mind, he could create thousands of situations for other things. For the scar on Two Bit's left temple, for why Darry's right ankle was weaker than his left, he could give thousands of stories, but he had no explanation for Steve's thumb.

He knew why, too. It was because of _where _it had happened. That place, that jungle. The word that people around here only whispered. The part of the map that just wasn't there anymore, whether printed on or not.

_Vietnam._

That's why he couldn't think of it. He couldn't let his mind slip over to that part of the world. There was too much, too much that could take away a person's thumb, too much could take away person's life. More than a person, his brother.

To Ponyboy, there no people pulling triggers in the jungle. People weren't capable of going this far. A rumble, sure, but a war? A real war? People could do turf wars, wars over a girl even, but not a real war. Not a war that killed so many, a war that even hurt kids. Wars that destroyed the good weren't done by real people, no person could do this. His brother could never do anything like this.

In Ponyboy's mind, the fighting was all done by uniforms, empty uniforms, acting under the command of the fanciest uniform of them all.

The sound of the creaking door filled the room, but this time Ponyboy didn't jump at an unexpected noise. He could hear them talking before he could feel their presence, Steve, Two Bit and Darry.

"Hey Ponyboy, surprised to see us all at once?" Two Bit called from the backdoor, "Seems that Superman went to pick up ol' Steve-y boy, and was gonna let me take the bus all the way home, but I spotted 'em! Block from the bus stop, waved 'em down, got a ride!"

"Dang, Two Bit, it ain't a big deal. You waved down Darry's truck, that's not too impressive." Steve grumbled. He wasn't in a good mood most days.

"Is too! Last three trucks I waved down weren't even close to Darry. In fact, one was just a big lady, scared me…"

Ponyboy could hear the fridge open, no doubt done by Two Bit looking for either chocolate cake or beer, the standard meal in the house. He could hear Darry's work boots hitting the kitchen floor, being pulled off after a long day of work. Not having Soda in the house to work some of the knots in Darry's back had started taking his toll on him physically.

Soda wouldn't be coming back in the house. No one would be there to get the knots out. Ponyboy could feel the fist of someone who wasn't there plunge into his chest, causing every muscle in his chest to contract at once. He hadn't felt like this since he was five and fell into a city pool, nearly drowning when no one had noticed but some Soc girl. She pulled him out, but when she saw he was with Dallas Winston, who already had a reputation despite his young age, she refused to speak to Ponyboy again. It was the first time anyone called him a greaser.

Being called that had left young Ponyboy confused, and he had turned to his favorite brother to explain it. "Aw, shoot, Pony. Bein' a greaser ain't bad, it just means you're gonna have better hair in a few years." Sodapop explained with a grin. He was more sure of what he had said than anything else in the world because that's how Ponyboy's brother was. He said everything he meant and meant everything he said. No one could accuse him of being a liar.

That was part of the reason everyone was so shocked that his girl Sandy had strayed, Soda was one of the good ones. One of the only good ones where they lived. But part of Ponyboy understood why she did it, despite his best efforts. It was a lot of work being Sodapop's girlfriend. Or best friend. Or brother.

He was always moving onto the next thing, when being sad was too much, he quit being sad. No matter what. He would just pull himself out of the situation and into a new one, no matter what everyone else did. That was what Sandy couldn't handle. She felt too much, Ponyboy saw it in her heavily made up eyes. The way she thought with only emotions. Sandy's way of dealing with pain was not to simply start feeling something else but to go out there and find something else, something better. She hadn't found anyone better than Soda, but she'd found something else.

How would she take the news? How would the heart breaker take the news that there was a heart stopper? Ponyboy could hear the guys still scrambling around in the kitchen, assuming he had homework as usual, but his mind was on the girl who wore too much make up and had too many emotions. Sandy could never wear a uniform. It would be easier to bottle the wind than take away her soul.

That was what had destroyed Sandy. Her own soul was too much, and she lost control. While Ponyboy knew he could never be a uniform, he could never let himself go the way that Sandy always did. If he let his emotions take control like she did, he knew he would never make it through life.

Life. There was so much too it. There were wars to finish, in Tulsa and in distant jungles. There was too much to see, too much to learn, too much to experience. And now Ponyboy had to do it for two people. Soda would never let Ponyboy miss anything in life, and now it was time for Ponyboy to start living more than ever. He just didn't know how to do that.

"Ponyboy!" That was Darry's voice yelling, he was calling towards the bedrooms, not looking, just yelling. "I said dinner's ready!" the oldest Curtis' voice cut through the air like a machete through jungle leaves, and Ponyboy felt himself shiver despite the heat climbing up his neck into his face. He was going to have to tell them, he was going to have to them what the uniforms had reported.

Ponyboy opened his mouth, ready for noise to come out only to be greeted by a tightening in chest that was like nothing he had ever felt before. Even in all the rumbles, he had never felt a force so strong. He couldn't breathe, he couldn't move, all he could do was stare at that damn wall, his mouth opening and closing like the goldfish he had begged his parents for but had never gotten.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll get the kid." Steve was grumbling in the kitchen, and it was about fetching him for dinner. It used to be that most of Steve's complaints revolved around Ponyboy, but now he didn't' seem to be capable of being happy about anything.

Steve's body took it's precious time going around the corner out of the kitchen, his hands stuffed into the pocket of his work uniform. Ponyboy had never realized before that Steve and Soda wore uniforms to work at the DX. They both had their own stains on each one, from various parts of the job, and their own names. But they both wore them in a way that kept them true greaser. The uniform was never buttoned, always revealing the white undershirt wore underneath. Steve's was baggy all the way down, as if ready at any minute to engulf him, while Soda's had been more fitted, embracing him and every movement he made.

Steve stopped walking and stared at the youngest Curtis who's mouth was still causing his lips to slap each other as his jaw snapped up and down as his blank eyes rested on the wall. He resembled the living dead at that moment.

Steve Randle knew exactly what was going on. He knew exactly what that flag on his lap meant, he knew who's dog tags those were on the floor, he had the contents of that envelope memorized. He had helped put packages like that together as part of his recovery at the military hospital.

People in starched white uniforms had made him put together the packages of despair for the family and loved ones of those who had fought next to him. Their clothes were always so clean and pristine, perfectly white no matter what. Even coming straight out of surgery, the stoic clothing seemed to glimmer in the light like fresh snow covering the ground from being seen with it's dead grass and forgotten flowers left unable to bloom.

"No," Steve finally gasped out, causing Ponyboy's mouth to snap shut and stay that way and look up at the older greaser with eyes finally filling with tears. "NO!" the sound came out of him like a freight train's single car, rolling away so fast that no one would have ever known it was there if it weren't for the destruction left behind.

Steve's body slammed itself against the wall, and his nine fingers dug into his hair as his eyes snapped themselves shut like doors slamming shut. His body was sliding down the wall, his knees already giving up, and Two Bit almost tripped rushing out of the kitchen with Darry to see what was wrong.

Steve remained on the floor, unable to move as Two Bit dropped to his knees, unsure of what to do but knowing that his friend needed him down there more than anything else at that moment, more self-less than anyone would ever give Two Bit Matthews credit for.

Darry stared at his only living brother across the room on the couch where he had found him when young Ponyboy had been given the task of informing everyone they were orphans, at a total loss. He hated Ponyboy more at that moment than ever before because he was the bearer of bad news yet again. Ponyboy was always there to face the full force of what was wrong in the world.

He was there to find out about their parents. He was there when Johnny had killed a Soc and then suffered the ultimate consequence as he redeemed himself by saving future Socs. He was there the night Dallas Winston lost his mind. Bad news clung to Ponyboy like an outfit no one would ever want to wear.

Unable to stand the face his older brother wore, Ponyboy let his neck weaken and his face drop down towards his hands, resting around the flag he had been given. He wasn't clutching it like he had expected to be. Yet his face still filled with a look of sheer terror as he stared at his hands, almost ready for the red dye of the material to leak onto his hands, staining them with the blood of everyone he had ever lost.

Darry might have realized that Ponyboy was the one to face most of the pain first, but Ponyboy lived it. He lived in constant fear of the uniforms and all they represented. He would never be able to find a way to escape them. The uniforms knew he was and were determined to ruin him.

It was at that moment, sitting on a tattered couch being stared down by someone three times his size as a war veteran sobbed like a child on the floor as a guy with a reputation for being the epitome of selfish tried his best to console that Ponyboy decided to never give up. He would fight the uniform until the day he died, he would never succumb to it's despair and mediocrity, he would find a way above it. That's what Soda had tried to do, and now it was Ponyboy's turn to fight a war that no one really understood.


End file.
